


Disarray

by cosmicbubble



Category: Final Fantasy XV
Genre: Angst, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Gen, noctis goes through a lot, talk of impending character death
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-20
Updated: 2018-08-20
Packaged: 2019-06-30 08:58:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,476
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15748476
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cosmicbubble/pseuds/cosmicbubble
Summary: Noctis has to come to terms with his father’s mortality - and it’s much earlier than he thinks.





	Disarray

**Author's Note:**

> Hi all!!! Um the first thing I wanted to say is this fic is really personal to me and as a result probably seems a little strange!! But it was really a good thing for me to write and I hope y’all enjoy it!!

Noctis’s dad is the strongest person in the entire world. Noctis may only be four, clinging to his dad’s leg at every twist and turn in their schedule, but this is already something he knows very well. When he stands, eyes looking ahead and speaking to his council members, all Noctis sees is a strong, large back. He sees how unrelenting he is when others sound so frantic - he’s unconcerned, and in Noctis’s little world, his dad always finds a way.

There’s a bug, creeping and crawling on Noctis’s bed before he goes to sleep for the night? His dad takes care of it, taking the bug away and even checking the sheets and blankets for any more critters. There aren’t any, ever again, and Noctis is certain it’s because his dad is just that tough. The bugs are scared of him, Noctis decides. His dad even reads a story to him before he falls asleep that evening, and Noctis knows he’s going to be protected from anything creepy or crawly.

And then the world always looks so different atop his dad’s shoulders. The chances are so rare, because most days, his dad is locked away taking care of all the important things a king has to - he knows that much. And he knows one day, he will have to do the same thing. But for now, sitting on his dad’s shoulders and seeing the world around him from a different view is enough. He holds tight onto his dad, and he feels his shoulders shake with laughter as they move about the otherwise quiet hallways of the Citadel. The guards watch them go by, but they say nothing.

When he’s eight years old, vision blurring from pain and a cold chill rushing through his body despite the flames around him, his dad is once again poised strong and determined. There’s no panic in the air, there’s not an ounce of hesitation in his expression as he cuts down the marilith before him. The creature screams in anguish and the sound echoes in Noctis’s ears, vision blurring entirely - the last thing he sees before he loses consciousness is. His father, strong and brave, surrounded by the sparkling lights of his swords.

“You could have died, Noct,” his father says to him in the hospital. His father is sitting by his bed, hands clenched together as he looks at his young son. Noctis just stares back at him; he knows about death. Just a little, really; his mother died when he was far too young to remember. Everyone just tells him about her - how he looks like her, how his hair looks to be the same shade as hers, how his smile is just like hers and all these other things he can’t quite understand - and that it’s such a pity that she died so young. Noctis only knew that death meant he couldn’t see his mom again, so his young definition of what it means to die had already been formed.

Noctis cries then, sitting there in the hospital bed. It’s not because his spine aches at every twist and turn, pulsing even as he shakes and gathers in shaky breaths. It’s not because of how forlorn and exhausted his father looks, because he’s seen how tired he can get after long meetings and busy weeks. Instead, it’s because if Noctis had died, he wouldn’t have been able to see his dad - and his world would be cast into loneliness.

His dad holds onto his hand then and says, “Everything is going to be taken care of. You’re all right right.” Noctis believes him. He has no reason to think otherwise - he doesn’t count the missed dinners, or the times where they couldn’t go fishing together, or the nights Noctis spent talking himself down from nightmares. Because Noctis knows that when he desperately needs his father, he finds a way to appear. When Noctis was certain the daemon would kill him, his father appeared and saved him. When he’s been brought to the hospital due to illness, his father always appeared.

/////

When Noctis returns from Tenebrae, things seem different. He tells himself that they have to be different, because it’s been years and with the attack from Niflheim during his recovery, everyone’s on edge.

But he’s not thinking about everyone else. He looks to his dad, and the brown hair that he knows - that he loves running his fingers through when his dad holds him, nightmares of the attack too overwhelming for him in the middle of the night - is tinged with gray. When he smiles, the wrinkles lining his face become more noticeable. And though his dad is holding tightly onto his hand, his shoulders are sagged and his body looks exhausted, in dire need of rest. That’s not how his dad usually looks. Noctis frowns.

His dad doesn’t notice a difference. But Noctis does.

/////

It’s little things here and there that Noctis really notice - a limp in his step, retiring to his room earlier and earlier. The limp isn’t terribly obvious and either way, Noctis has one when his old injury acts up. Ignis starts to talk to him about what he will be in charge of when he’s king.

“Iggy,” Noctis asks, “When do I become king?” He doesn’t make eye contact, looking at the papers before him. He’s writing an essay for his tutor, taking gentle care to keep his handwriting immaculate. Last time he wrote sloppily, he had to rewrite it late into the night.

But he hears Ignis sigh before he replies, “When your father dies, you will become king.”

Noctis has nightmares about wearing the crown.

/////

When he’s 16, it all comes to a head. He’s walking with Prompto, bright sun warming his face. Prompto exclaims, “Day one of exams are done! This is brutal torture, you know.”

Noctis grunts in agreement. The bustle of the crowd around him echoes in his mind, and all he can think about is going home and resting on the couch in his apartment. It’s comfortable, large, and he imagines staying just like that into the evening.

Instead, Prompto comments, “Oh, it’s the king.” Noctis follows Prompto’s gaze and looks at the large screen attached to one of the skyscraper buildings. He remembers his father talking about this interview in passing, but his father has had many interviews before. It’s not anything major, but when he looks at the screen, his heart nearly stops. His eyes widen, and he feels his world freeze.

“Huh? Did he always use a cane?”

For just a moment, he sees his dad as he did when he was younger. Big, tall, strong - dark brown hair slicked back, stubble scratching against his skin. But it’s only a moment, because Noctis blinks and the world comes back to him. He sees his father with wrinkled skin, graying hair, tired shoulders, and a cane tightly gripped in his hand as he limps forward. He’s standing in their garden, the spring causing the flowers to bloom in radiance but all Noctis can see is the shell of his father.

A hand rests on his shoulder as Prompto’s voice interrupts, “You okay, dude? You’re kind of staring off. Again.”

“Oh,” Noctis says, turning to face his friend, “Yeah, I’m fine. Didn’t you want to, to go somewhere?”

He doesn’t miss the expression on Prompto’s face - his eyebrows are furrowed and the grip he has on Noctis’s shoulder is tight, but Prompto seems to shrug it off all the same. The blond laughs and exclaims, “All right, we’ve earned it! To the arcade!”

Noctis lets Prompto lead him to the arcade, and Prompto’s words are positive, unrelenting, trying to pull him into the game they’re playing. The sounds loudly echo through his ears, but Noctis closes his eyes and all he sees is his dad. His hand trembles as he holds the plastic gun for the game, because he thinks of the cane his dad holds. It’s too much.

But he can push it down - he always does, after all.

Prompto helps with this a lot; he always seems to. He’s loud, always eager to say something that leaves Noctis clutching his stomach as he holds in laughter. The arcade is no exception, and his complaints as he loses in round after round is enough for Noctis to forget, even if it’s just for a little while.

/////

He can’t seem to forget for long - the world wants to make sure he knows.

Noctis returns home in the evening, exhausted but feeling lighter. He stayed at the arcade with Prompto for a while, because his friend didn’t want to leave until he had mastered the shooting game. It didn’t take long, but Noctis knows Prompto lost a few rounds on purpose. He also knows his friend would sneak glances at him throughout the afternoon - he’s suspected something, but Noctis feels relieved he didn’t say anything.

When he arrives at his empty, lonely apartment, he’s greeted by a pair of shoes and a rustling from the kitchen. Ignis. He hasn’t taken a look at the documents his advisor had given him earlier in the week, but the pit forming in his stomach keeps him from caring. Instead, he drags himself into the living room and collapses on the couch, facing away from Ignis.

Ignis sets down the cleaned dishes and calls to him, “I thought school got out earlier.”

“Went to the arcade with Prompto,” Noctis replies, and he doesn’t look over in Ignis’s direction. His shoulders feel heavy and talking feels like work. He curls into one of the pillows strewn about on the couch, closing his eyes and wishing for the world to drift away.

It doesn’t. Instead, Ignis keeps talking to him and asks, “Did you look over the briefing I brought?”

“No,” Noctis says simply, “I was studying for finals.”

There’s a moment of silence and it feels stifling, constricting itself around Noctis’s neck. He doesn’t have to look at Ignis to feel the disappointment coming off of him in waves. Noctis grimaces as Ignis breaks the silence with a short, “You need to be taking this seriously. You’re expected to take over -“

“When dad dies,” Noctis quips, sitting up on the couch and tightly gripping the pillow nearest him as he nearly yells, “When dad dies, I’m supposed to take over and be the king. That’s what you want to say, right?”

Ignis doesn’t say anything. Noctis doesn’t either.

Instead, Ignis brings over a tray of sweets - the same kind he’s been attempting to make for years now, the treat that Noctis enjoyed so much in Tenebrae. The smell is appetizing, sickeningly sweet and Noctis feels his stomach lurch. The world drifts back to normal as Noctis takes a bite of the confection. It’s flaky, sweetness of sugar and fruit melting in his mouth, and a feeling of emptiness settles on his tongue.

“It’s close,” Noctis says, “but there’s something still off about it.”

Ignis smiles and takes a bite. They eat together in silence, and the peace makes Noctis feel calm. At least Ignis isn’t angry, Noctis thinks. He doesn’t have outbursts often, and even when he thinks he was loud and generally awful, Ignis always shrugs it off and dismisses it with a wave of his hand.

But the thought doesn’t leave Noctis’s mind - of the crown resting upon his head, weighted with the blood of his father.

He’s not so hungry anymore.

 

He’s young again, age eight, before the marilith attack. The garden, one of Noctis’s favorite places, is alive and bright with radiant colors and hues. He chuckles, the leaves from a low branch tickling the top of his head as he runs through the dirt. Noctis has forgotten his shoes again, but he doesn’t mind; he cherishes the feeling of the cool soil beneath his feet, of the footprints he leaves behind. The groundskeeper always chides him for it, but he smiles nonetheless.

Today is a special day in the garden, and Noctis can’t smile any wider when he remembers. His dad finishes with his council meeting early today, and Noctis asked if they could play in the garden for a little while. His father had agreed, suggesting a fishing trip afterwards and of course, that just made Noctis’s entire week. Time with his father is rare as it is, and Noctis is greedy for more and more time. 

Noctis comes to a stop at the bench placed in the middle of a crowd of flowers. They’re all blooming, brilliant blue - Noctis’s favorite color. He takes a seat on the bench, feet no longer touching the ground, and kicks his legs as he waits. His heart is fluttering, the pitter-patter in his chest keeping him just as excited. He leans down and kicks a little dirt with the tips of his toes, a smile never leaving his face.

The sun beats down on his head and the warmth is like a blanket, enveloping him as he waits patiently. He’s probably gotten here too early, but it doesn’t matter. If he was late, then they wouldn’t even have this chance at all. And he’s not going to lose this opportunity because he wanted a little extra time in bed.

He hears footsteps approaching and Noctis can not help the excitement that rushes through his body. When he turns to face where the sound is coming from, he sees a head of brown hair peeking out from the smaller trees, the same, familiar head of brown hair that Noctis used to grab hold of when he was smaller, sitting upon his dad’s shoulders. Noctis jumps out, breaking out into a run. There’s a flash of pain as a sharp rock presses into the sole of his right foot, but he pays it no mind. Instead, he rushes towards his dad, calling out to him as he collides into him, wrapping his arms around his dad’s waist.

“Dad,” he cheers, burying his face into his dad’s formal robes, “I’m glad you’re here. You ready to play?”

When Noctis greets his dad like this, his dad always responds by wrapping his arms around his son and holding onto him tightly. Sometimes he laughs, sometimes he runs his hand through Noctis’s hair. It always makes Noctis feel calm, as though a barrier of protection has surrounded him.

But instead, his father doesn’t move. His hand doesn’t come up to run through Noctis’s hair. They don’t come up to embrace him. His father stands still, like his limbs are made of stones, and asks, “Who are you?”

Noctis pulls away, looking up at his dad. His expression is stone, hard and unrelenting. His hands tremble as he says, “Dad, that’s a joke. You know me.”

“I don’t have a son,” his dad replies, shaking his head. Noctis takes a deep breath as his dad says, “You must be trespassing. This is the Citadel and I’ll have you removed straight away.”

Noctis wants to scream, the thought bubbling up his throat but he keeps it inside. Instead, he desperately reaches out to his dad and begs, “Dad, it’s me, Noctis. You have to remember me. This isn’t funny.”

He grabs hold of his dad’s hand, expecting to pull him towards him, towards the beautiful blue flowers of the garden. They were planted just for him, his father always said. It could jog his memory, or maybe his dad would just start to laugh. It’s not a funny joke, but Noctis would still laugh and everything would go back to normal.

But when Noctis grabs hold of his dad’s hand, it changes in his grip. Instead of the warm skin he expects, it morphs into the coarse feeling of dirt, separating between his fingers and drifting to the ground.

Noctis screams, looking up at his dad’s face. His face is breaking apart, crumbling with the wind and drifting to the ground. In just moments, his dad vanishes, and Noctis is left in the garden, hands clawing at the pile of dirt before him. He’s pulling at it, bringing it into his hands, as though that could somehow put his dad back together.

It doesn’t, and he screams until his throat is hoarse.

 

Noctis awakens with a startle, jolting up in bed. His breaths are escaping from his lungs, clawing to the surface, and he feels his hand tremble as he reaches for the bedside lamp. It’s morning, but not for the sun yet - he peeks at his phone and it’s barely four in the morning. The light from the lamp creates shapes on then wall and for just a moment, Noctis feels fear pour into his veins.

He blinks and those shapes are gone. However, the feeling they leave behind remain and he continues to find himself trembling. When he closes his eyes again, he watches his father become one with the dirt and vanish. Over and over again, he sees it as he tries to drift back to sleep, and so he gives up. 

Noctis takes a quick shower - dousing himself in cold water, shocking himself awake and pulling himself away from his dream - before he drags himself into the living room of his apartment. It’s clean, immaculately so. He repressed the need to scatter magazines everywhere and instead takes a seat on the large couch, turning on the television.

The news is all about his father and his most recent interview, and his heart twists into knots. When he looks on the screen, he sees someone weary and tired with age that sleeps into his skin - he doesn’t see his father. That’s not the man he knows.

He changes the channel to something mindless, one of those reality television shows Prompto always talks about. The yelling from the characters becomes a soothing mantra, and Noctis presses his head against one of the pillows and somehow, his eyes drop closed.

“I didn’t realize you watched those shows,” someone says, waking him up and causing him to jolt up on the couch. He hadn’t realized he had fallen asleep and when he looks outside the window, the sun has risen quite some time ago.

Ignis stares at him, gaze unrelenting, as though carefully, delicately, looking for any crack in Noctis’s demeanor. He must see the fatigue pulling at the prince, simply because sleeping on the couch is not quite like sleeping on his bed, but he says nothing of it.

Noctis shrugs, “Needed some background noise. Helped a little. What time is it?”

“Six fifteen,” Ignis replies, “You should be getting ready for school, as I’m sure even exams will start without the crown prince. In the afternoon, your father has requested you come to the Citadel for dinner.”

Noctis looks away from Ignis, instead looking at his hands. They’re clasping onto the pillow he was just using, fingers trembling just so. He thinks about what it would be like, to sit across from his father in the grand dining room. Would it feel like old times? Or would he feel like he did in his dreams or even this morning, where his father seems so different? The thought terrifies him, and he feels his heart racing.

Instead of voicing everything running through his mind, he asks, “Why?”

“Because it’s been quite some time since you’ve returned,” Ignis says, “Your Highness loves you and gives you this freedom, but I’m sure he still wants to hear how his son is doing.”

Noctis ends up agreeing to go see his father, but the day seems tilted. He barely makes it on time to school and when he arrives, Prompto gives him a look, eyebrows furrowed and hands in the air, questioning. Noctis can’t give him an answer. Prompto doesn’t push it.

The exam involves essay writing, and Noctis has never been very good at it. Ignis always helps him with take-home written assignments and it’s not like Prompto makes a good study partner for this kind of test, so when Noctis presses his pencil to the paper, he freezes. The question is simple - Use information from the readings given to you to write a brief history of Lucian magic - but his hand just won’t move. His eyes read the words over and over, but it’s as though he’s been glued to his spot. Nothing is happening.

His gaze lingers on the word magic before returning there over and over again. When he closes his eyes to try and steel himself for the task, he sees the power of the Crystal, and watches as it pulls his father away from him.

Noctis presses too hard on the paper and his pencil snaps.

 

“Man, that was a bummer,” Prompto groans, kicking at a large pebble that ended up in their path. It moves further along the sidewalk with a small thump, and Prompto nearly screams, “I think I’m done being a student. I’ll just go home.”

Noctis can’t help but chuckle. The blond is smiling too, and he raises his eyebrow as he teases, “But that question must have been a piece of cake for you, huh? You know all there is to know about magic!”

“Ignis does,” Noctis says, “I uh, don’t. Not really. I should, but sometimes it’s so boring.” He doesn’t mention the fact that magic is weighing too heavily on him, and literally pulling his dad away. He didn’t mention it in his essay either - his mess of a piece of work.

Prompto gasps, “What’s this I hear? The crown prince, lazy? Say it isn’t so!” This gets a laugh out of Noctis and as he chuckles, he can feel some of the stress he’s been holding onto ebb away. 

He at least has a few hours before he has to be at the Citadel, and so Prompto takes him to their favorite arcade. He’s able to lose himself in the games for just a little while longer - any time he can spend away from the thoughts of his father, the better.

Prompto even walks with him to the steps of the Citadel. He’s laughing and exclaiming, “Dude, every time we come here I get scared. It’s all so intimidating.”

“It’s not too bad,” Noctis replies, “And you’ve been in here several times. How would it be that intimidating?”

Prompto says, “Hello? That’s where royalty lives? You can’t expect a poor pleb like me to really feel comfortable in there, it’s all stuffy and proper. Anyway, text you later!” He rushes off then, his school bag slung over his shoulder as he gives a simple wave. Noctis waves back, the smile fading from his face with every step Prompto takes.

 

He didn’t know what to expect, but this isn’t quite it. Noctis is seated in his usual spot at the dining room table, with his father on the other side of the table facing him. It’s quiet - it’s always quiet - and the footsteps of the servants feel ever louder. Ignis and Gladio are standing off to the side, but the presence brings him no comfort.

“So, I trust that your studies are going well?” It sounds like his father, but he doesn’t at the same time. He watches his father speak, watches the words leave his lips, but it all feels fake.

He closes his eyes for just a moment and sees his father from just a few years ago - specks of gray littering his chestnut brown hair, with very few wrinkles about his face and a cocky glimmer to his eyes. But when he opens his eyes, Noctis doesn’t see a single remnant of before. His father is thin, perhaps even more than he was a few months ago. His hands shake as he reaches for his glass of wine. His hair is entirely gray and though he smiles when he speaks, it doesn’t reach his eyes. And his eyes - he looks so tired. Noctis never imagined a day would come when his father seemed so full of fatigue, and yet he’s staring that day down.

One thing he learned a few years ago about Lucian magic was the power the Crystal provided. The kings could use it in tandem with the ring of the Lucii in order to protect the citizens. However, the ultimate use of magic always comes at a price and that price is longevity. The kings of Lucis are doomed to die earlier than most, but when Noctis learned of it, he had simply scoffed. After all, his father has been so powerful and in control for so long, there’s no way he would succumb to the power of the Crystal’s might.

Noctis finally answers, “I guess. It’s exam time now, so it’s pretty tiring.”

“Of course,” his father laughs, “I remember those being very difficult when I was your age. But you’re much smarter than your old man, so I’m sure they’re no problem for you.”

Those kinds of comments used to make Noctis laugh but now they just make his stomach twist and turn into knots. They make his food look unappetizing, as though made of stones that would burst through his body should he eat it. He takes a sip of water, hoping it would settle his nerves. The chill of the ice feels shocking to his lips.

“I’ve been meaning to tell you,” his father says, and suddenly the room feels cold like ice, “I want you to start taking more courses with Ignis.”

“Why?” The words slip through Noctis’s lips before he can control them. He takes a quick glance at Ignis, who remains still as ever. Noctis curls the hand in his lap into a fist; Ignis has probably known about this idea for quite some time.

His father sighs, “I’m getting on in my age, you know. Soon, the duties of the king will fall to you. And I have no doubt that when that day comes, you will be ready. This will just help prepare you even more.”

The ice has settled into his veins. His hands tremble as he finds himself asking, “But it’s not like you’re planning to leave anytime soon, right?” He hopes his voice does not sound as weak as he feels. His heart is racing, his palms feel sweaty despite the chill that rushes through him. Noctis is looking at his father - looking at the tired smile that stares back at him, looking at the cane that leans against his chair.

“I have no intentions to die anytime soon,” his father says slowly, “However, we both know that I will die sooner rather than later. I just want you to be prepared.”

/////

“Noctis! Open the door.”

Gladio’s loud as his fist pounds against Noctis’s bedroom door, but Noctis doesn’t budge. He’s back in his apartment, curled underneath his comforting blankets, eyes closed, trying to keep the loud noise from getting to him.

Ignis’s voice is next to interrupt him, “We just want to talk to you.”

“You can’t miss training today,” Gladio interjects, “I won’t have my prince losing the progress he’s made.”

Noctis shakes his head, pressing against the pillow beneath him before he says, “I don’t want to. Leave me alone.” 

Someone knocks on the door again, gentler this time, and Noctis knows it’s Ignis. But he doesn’t want to answer. Instead, he clenches onto his pillow even tighter and closes his eyes. He sees his aging, ill father among the darkness behind his eyelids and ends up with open eyes again, gazing at the wrinkles amongst his pillowcase.

They back off after a little while, and he hears Gladio grumble, “What’s gotten into him?”

“Perhaps he just needs some time,” Ignis sighs. Noctis tries to tune out their conversation, but even as they leave and walk down the hallway, he can hear their frustration and worry.

As Gladio leaves, he says, “Well, let me know when he decides he wants to man up and keep training.” Noctis curls into himself tighter and pretends the words don’t hurt. He also pretends his father isn’t dying.

/////

His father texts him, asking if he wants to have dinner again sometime during the week. Noctis stares at the message late into the night, when the light of his phone becomes brighter than the stars in the sky. He wants to respond back, and he even types out a quick agreeing message. But over and over again, he erases it. 

He wants to ask if they could go fishing again - head out into the open ocean, just the two of them, and talk and catch fish until the sun sets. But then if he spends time with his dad, he can see just how much the Crystal has pulled from him, and then he’s going to have to think about how his father will die.

With only a few hours left to catch sleep, Noctis finally closes his eyes and drifts away, dropping his phone onto his bed. The message remains unanswered.

 

One more day of finals, and Noctis feels like life has drained from his entire body. He’s up with his first alarm, barely two hours after he’s fallen asleep. He pulls himself out of bed, gets dressed, and leaves his apartment before Ignis even arrives to make breakfast.

The crisp air of the morning brushes against his cheeks and wakes him up. It’s far too early to head to school, so Noctis heads into a coffee shop close to the school. Warm coffee presses against his skin as he holds onto the drink he’s ordered. It wakes him up just enough.

His phone buzzes in his pocket, and when he takes it out Ignis is concerned. “You’re not at home. Are you all right?”

“I already left for school,” Noctis replies. He keeps it short - talking takes a lot of energy and he’s not sure how much he has to dedicate to the task.

Ignis’s response is quick and Noctis represses a laugh when he sees, “Have you at least eaten breakfast?”

“I will.” His phone buzzes again, but Noctis chooses not to answer. He already knows what Ignis will be asking about yet - if he’s taken time to think about whether he’d like to go and eat with his father again, that he’s expecting some kind of response from him. Noctis doesn’t know what to say to that.

He does at least at a little something for breakfast. It feels like iron in his stomach.

When he arrives at school, Prompto is already waiting for him, leaning against the school gate. He has a grin on his face when he sees him, but the smile quickly fades.

“Dude, are you okay? You don’t look so good.” He sounds concerned, more than Noctis has heard him sound before, but he just shrugs it off.

He mumbles, “Just didn’t get a lot of sleep last night. That’s all.” It doesn’t seem to do anything to ease Prompto, because now his friend has stepped even closer to him. It feels like an interrogation, and Noctis feels his shoulders stiffen.

“Noctis doesn’t just not sleep at night,” Prompto says, “What have you done with Noctis?”

Noctis cracks a smile at this. Prompto rests his hand on his shoulder, returning the smile as he talks about some new game coming out soon. It all feels normal, like a rhythm has returned to his life.

They’re walking up to their classroom as Prompto complains, “It’s the last day of exams, but it’s math. Even having the crown prince as a tutor hasn’t helped me any.”

“You’re doomed,” Noctis agrees. He laughs when Prompto groans and announces that his life is over. 

The exam isn’t terrible; numbers are something Noctis is good at, and memorizing equations comes easily to him. They allow his mind to focus only on the task at hand, instead of drifting away to things he doesn’t want to think about.

When the day is finished, Prompto is over the moon. He grabs onto Noctis’s shoulder and exclaims, “Home free! Two weeks of freedom!”

Noctis had forgotten all about the time off from school and the world freezes in front of him. Ice settles into his veins and his mind starts rushing through everything one after another, with hardly any pause. If there’s this much time where he’s unoccupied, his father is definitely going to want to see him. Ignis will pester him. Even Gladio will start to ask him, and he’s been neglecting his training but he doesn’t want to go to the Citadel for any reason, and that includes spending time with his Shield.

“Well, the arcade has been fun but maybe not for today,” Prompto says, “How about your place? We can always get Iggy to cook you something delicious. After all, we need to celebrate!”

Noctis sighs, “Sure. That sounds like a plan to me.” It doesn’t, not really - Noctis wants to be anywhere but his apartment right now, but once Prompto has settled on an idea, there’s no way to pull it from his stubborn hands. Noctis has to relent.

/////

Ignis makes them a pasta dish, with a decadent meat and tomato sauce and no vegetables in sight, at least for the prince. Noctis eats quietly at the table while Prompto works to keep the conversation alive. He describes the mathematics exam, going through each emotion he experienced with every question. Noctis has long since tuned him out, and Ignis probably has too, but the lull of his voice is a welcome comfort. 

Noctis returns to the conversation when he hears Prompto ask, “What are you reading there? It doesn’t look like any kind of official stuff.”

“It’s a letter from my parents,” Ignis replies, and now Noctis is looking up, direction pointed in the folded letter in his advisor’s hands. It looks worn, folded awkwardly in places.

Ignis’s uncle lives and works in Insomnia, but his parents live in the countryside of Accordo. He’s seen pictures before, of the lush grasses and brilliantly blue lakes. Ignis has never lived there, but he’s visited several times. Noctis has never met his parents.

“How are they?” Noctis finds himself asking.

Ignis replies, “They’re in good health. They spent some time visiting my grandparents in Altissia.” He keeps talking about what they did in the city of overflowing water, but Noctis doesn’t hear it anymore.

Noctis has never had a chance to meet his grandparents - they both died, health failing long before Noctis was ever born. And Ignis’s parents are both older than Noctis’s father and before he can ask himself why, he feels a pang of jealousy erupt in his heart.

“Is something wrong?” Ignis asks, and it takes a moment before Noctis realizes he’s stood up. His hands are pressed against the wooden table, fingers nearly white, and his shoulders are tense. They’re both looking at him, as though waiting for an answer. He doesn’t really have one.

Noctis shakes his head, “Nothing’s wrong. I just thought I heard someone at the door.”

“That’s because you’re too tired,” Prompto laughs, “I thought you were going to sleep in the street on the way here.”

They change conversation topics then and Noctis is thankful. He doesn’t want to admit he was jealous of a healthy family, and of the fact that Ignis doesn’t have to worry about his family dying and wasting away in front of him.

He doesn’t want to admit that’s what he’s going to have to do, either.

 

“This is why you shouldn’t skip training,” Gladio says, “I can tell you’ve lost a lot of your stamina.”

Noctis is sitting on the ground, panting, clenching his wooden practice sword in his right hand. Gladio towers above him, a thin sheen of sweat across his forehead but no other sign of exertion. It’s been at least an hour, and Noctis feels frustrated. Why isn’t Gladio so tired?

“I’m still trying, aren’t I?” Noctis retorts, and he manages to get back up on his feet and makes a lunge for Gladio, swinging his sword. He can hear Gladio’s past trainings echoing in his head - tight grip, use your body when you swing to take pressure off of your arm, prepare for a counterattack by planting your feet down - but they all go out the window. Instead, when Noctis’s sword meets Gladio’s, his weapon flies out of his hand and he’s knocked back to the ground.

There’s silence for a moment and when Noctis thinks Gladio is going to say something, Noctis quickly interjects, “I know. It’s not good enough. I’ll keep practicing.”

“Good,” Gladio replies, reaching his hand out to help Noctis stand up, “I like hearing that. Don’t skip practice anymore.”

As long as it takes place at the Citadel, Noctis can’t make that promise.

 

“You know, you can’t just ignore your father forever,” Ignis says.

He’s making breakfast for Noctis - of course, it’s nearly eleven in the morning, so perhaps it’s better called lunch - and Noctis doesn’t want to hear this just after he’s woken up. He’s still dressed in pajamas, black shirt a size too large and hanging over his left shoulder awkwardly as he sits at the table. He drums his fingers against the wooden surface as he says, “I’ll answer later.”

“I'm afraid you’ll need to answer sooner rather than later,” Ignis replies, “I think we both know how busy your father’s schedule can be.”

He does - he doesn’t need any more reminders about his dad. Noctis knows about them all too well. He grumbles, “I’ve got time. It’s just dinner.”

“Not as much time as you want, as I’m sure you’re aware,” Ignis says, ending the conversation as he brings over a plate of eggs and sausage, cooked entirely to Noctis’s liking. Rather than reply back, Noctis busies himself with eating. It’s seasoned, perfectly only as Ignis can, but it tastes bland on his tongue.

They’re quiet again while they eat, though Ignis doesn’t have a plate. It’s because he ate earlier, Noctis decides, and the room is filled with the sound of utensils moving as Noctis eats.

When he finishes and the kitchen is cleaned up, Ignis doesn’t leave like Noctis had been expecting. He lingers around the living room as Noctis sits on the couch.

Before Ignis speaks, Noctis asks, “Is this about taking my duty as Prince more seriously?”

“Just that some of your time off from school could be used to study up on governmental affairs,” Ignis replies.

The words are out of his mouth before Noctis even thinks about it as he says, “Because my dad is going to die, you want me to be ready to take over. I get it.”

“That’s not what I was going to say,” Ignis starts. Noctis doesn’t want to hear the rest, so instead, he stomps out of the living room and into his bedroom, slamming the door behind him.

Ignis doesn’t follow after him.

Fire rolls through him and he feels so angry, shaking, but he doesn’t know what to do. He ends up sprawled out on his bed, staring up at the ceiling. He hears Ignis shuffling around in the kitchen and living room, followed by his muffled voice. He must have called someone.

Noctis reaches out to the statue seated on the table next to his bed. It’s old and worn, with scratches along the wood, but Carbuncle brings Noctis a small amount of peace. The weight of the statue in his hand is calming, and the fire surging through him extinguishes.

The ceiling grows blurry as tears spill over. He doesn’t want his father to die - not now, not ever. And every moment with him, every time someone brings him up, is another reminder that soon, he will be gone. Noctis will be left alone.

He falls asleep with the Carbuncle statue clenched tightly in his hand.

/////

They confront him about it two days later. Prompto’s over, the release of a new game calling his name, and Noctis had offered the television at his apartment for it. That had been months ago, but Prompto isn’t going to forget something like that, and so he shows up at eight in the morning, nearly knocking down the door in excitement.

“It’s finally time,” he exclaims, tightly clenching the game in his hand.

Noctis has barely been out of bed. His hair is unruly and wild, his eyelids feel stuck together with glue, and Prompto is already excited and ready to go.

He invites himself in, of course, and gets everything set up. His hands are shaking and he won’t stop talking. Noctis feels a little overwhelmed, but the activity is welcome. The previous day, Ignis didn’t come. He didn’t go train with Gladio. Instead, he stayed in his apartment and in his bed, thinking about how much he wants to stop the clock.

When the title screen to the game appears on the screen, Prompto declares, “All right, I think you should play first. It’s your apartment, after all.”

“Glad you remembered,” Noctis says, and he shares a laugh with his closest friend. Things feel normal for a while, and the thoughts that have taken residence in his head fall silent. Instead, he hears the music and noises from the game, punctuated by Prompto’s colorful commentary.

The morning passes by quickly and before long, he finds Ignis standing in the doorway. Just behind him is Gladio, arms crossed in front of his chest. Noctis stands up to face them.

“I’m sorry,” Noctis says, turning his attention to Gladio in particular. It is never shows his feelings on his face, but Gladio is an entirely different story.

He scoffs, “You want to explain why you skipped this time? You said you weren’t going to anymore.”

“I’m sorry,” Noctis sighs, “I just . . . I don’t know. It’s hard to explain.”

Ignis walks further into the living room as he says, “This has to do with your outburst the other day, doesn’t it? Where you stormed off?”

Noctis doesn’t look them in the eye, and instead just nods. The music from the video games plays through the room, the game itself suddenly forgotten. Prompto stands in the room, shoulders hunched as he looks awkwardly at the others.

“Is this also why you haven’t responded to your father’s request to eat dinner with him?”

Noctis nods again. No one says anything, and Noctis doesn’t feel much like saying anything, either. He wants to run, to hide back in his room.

Gladio grumbles, “You really didn’t think to talk about it?”

Noctis doesn’t say anything. No one else does either, for just a little while. Noctis feels uncomfortable, the urge to run prickling his legs. They’re looking at him, but they’re not saying much of anything, either. Gladio’s shoulders are tense, jaw locked, as though he wants to say something. 

Ignis breaks the silence as he says, “I think you need to talk it out with your father. It concerns him, after all.”

“He can’t help it,” Noctis shrugs, “I think it’ll make it worse.” However, it does sound better - to tell his father what he’s thinking, to listen as his father soothes any fears and anxieties he has.

He looks away from his friends, hands trembling. The more he thinks about telling his dad, the more he’s going to have to face the shell of a man he’s become. Can he handle that again - can he handle it over and over?

A hand rests on his shoulder and he doesn’t have to look to know it’s Prompto. He doesn’t say anything; none of them do. Instead, they all stand there and wait for Noctis to come to his decision.

His decision arrives when he pulls out his phone and finally texts his father, “Will tonight work for dinner?”

The reply comes quickly, and even though Noctis’s hand is shaking, he can’t help but smile. Relief rushes through his system, and he turns to Prompto and says, “Why don’t we get back to the game?”

“Hell no,” Gladio interjects with a grin, “I have a lazy prince to train. There’s too much catching up to do.”

Prompto laughs and exclaims, “You’re doomed. This is it, my friend.” He moves his hand from Noctis’s shoulder, but the smile never leaves his face.

A text message comes back quickly. “I’ll always make time for you, my son. Tonight it is.”

/////

They eat dinner in a peaceful silence, though Noctis’s hand is trembling as he clenches his utensil too tightly. He pushes the vegetables on his plate around. It’s a habit from childhood that he can’t seem to outgrow - if he makes it look like he’s eaten some of the greens on his plate, he can avoid them entirely.

“You know, you don’t have to pretend with me,” Regis chuckles, motioning towards his plate. Noctis smiles and sets down his fork.

He shrugs, “Just a habit. How . . . how have you been feeling?”

“None the worse for wear,” his father replies, “I can’t expect perfection from this body anymore. It’s been working for too hard, too long.”

Noctis doesn’t say anything. His shoulders freeze, his hands tremble, and he brings them to rest in his lap. He looks up at his father again and takes in everything he sees - the cane leaning against the table, the fatigue that seems to pull at every part of his body. There’s a cut on his shoulder, probably from stumbling into something, and it appears to be taking too long to heal. It’s turned purple, bruising. When he smiles, it looks too painful. Noctis can’t stop the shaking anymore.

His father abruptly stands up, gripping hold of his cane tightly as he walks across the room towards Noctis. Noctis tries not to grimace, to flinch as he sees his father limp, cradling the cane in his hand as though without it, his legs would fail. Noctis’s heart races; that’s probably true.

He closes his eyes. He doesn’t want to see it anymore, doesn’t want to see his father waste away anymore. If he walks any further, then maybe he’ll turn to dust just like he did in his dream.

Instead, he feels warm arms wrap around him, holding onto him tightly. It’s comforting, like his favorite blanket or like when his father would send nightmares away by laying in bed with him when he was little, and he finds his hands coming up to hold onto his father’s shoulders.

“My son,” Regis says quietly, running his hand through Noctis’s hair, “What has been causing you so much anguish? Is it something I’ve done?”

His voice is so soft, soothing, just like it used to be when he was younger. His eyes sting and he feels tears run down his face, though he pretends they haven’t appeared. Instead, he lets everything out. When he starts to talk, he can’t seem to stop and his lungs desperately claw at air as he chokes down any sobs that want to break free.

“I don’t want you to die. I know it’s going to happen but everything reminds me of it and how I won’t be able to see you soon and just, it hurts too much.”

His mind brings forward images he doesn’t want to see - black flowers scattered about the throne room in the Citadel. He’s walking towards the throne, and as he looks at everyone around him, they all give him a look of pity. They tell him how sorry they are for his loss and that his father was a brilliant king, a kind man. It only causes his shoulders to shake.

Regis still holds onto him, and they stay like this for quite some time. He doesn’t say anything, and Noctis spends time focusing on his breathing, slowly calming himself down. His tears dry, his mind stops rushing through different visions of the future. Instead, he just focuses on the warmth of his father and the feeling of his arms wrapped around him.

He pulls away and his father says, “I can’t imagine how heavy it’s been weighing on you. You’ve watched me in failing health for quite some time now.”

Noctis nods, clasping his hands together. He can’t look his father in the eye, not right now.

Regis continues, “I know there’s nothing I can do to change time. The inevitable will come and I will have to leave this world. But I could have listened to you a little more, helped you through this. I’m sorry I’ve been so neglectful.”

“You haven’t,” Noctis mumbles, “And even if I told you, nothing will change.”

Regis sighs, “It won’t. But you’re not alone in this. You have me, and when you can’t bring up your concerns to me, you have the most loyal of friends. Let others help you.”

Noctis nods, and reaches out to his father. It’s not going to be normal, and he knows that. He’s going to have to watch his father die, going to have to watch his father age and struggle to do things that came so easily. He’s going to have to deal with the loneliness that comes when he passes.

But he doesn’t feel so alone anymore.

/////

Noctis wakes up on his own around nine in the morning. His body feels heavy, but somehow waking up and getting out of bed comes easier. The carbuncle statue rests on the table next to his bed just like always. The smell of egg and bacon wafts into his room. Ignis is there, of course.

Things feel normal again, somewhat. School is back in session, and he’s been helping Prompto through math assignments, just as usual. In return, Prompto takes him to the arcaden or to his home to play games into the evening. He’s training with Gladio again.

When he walks into the living room, Ignis glances in his direction. He transfers the eggs from the pan to a plate without missing a beat.

“I trust you feel better,” Ignis says, bringing the plate of breakfast to the table. Noctis takes a seat and nods his head.

He eats his food quickly before he says, “I guess. It still . . . I still end up thinking about it a lot. And it still feels tough.”

“It’s not going to go away,” Ignis replies, “I think you’ve been handling it admirably. You’re going to make your father proud. You probably already have.”

Noctis thinks about rising to the throne as king. The crown he imagines against his head feels heavy, weighing on him. But it doesn’t feel painful anymore. It’s still going to hurt, and he doesn’t think that will go away anytime soon. It’s not supposed to.

But things feel a little lighter, a little more supportive - and he knows his father will still be here as long as he can, and even after. Noctis is going to find a way to be all right.

Noctis looks at Ignis and he smiles.


End file.
